


The Burning Rivers

by AdorableDisaster



Category: Werewolf: The Apocalypse
Genre: Ahroun, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Changing Relationships, Churches & Cathedrals, Cybernetics, Descent into Madness, Dystopian, F/M, Human-Werewolf Interactions, Kinfolk, Master/Pet, Melodrama, Mental/Emotional Trauma, Metis - Freeform, The Author Regrets Nothing, Violence, Wererat, Werewolf: the Apocalypse - Freeform, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorableDisaster/pseuds/AdorableDisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A human woman rules a crumbling city through her own cunning, viciousness, and the help of her beloved Werewolf.  His mind was ruined by their enemies, but his heart still loves her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burning Rivers

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was playing a Werewolf LARP. My Glasswalker Kinfolk fell in love with a Metis Get of Fenris Ahroun, and he reciprocated. Someone photoshopped a pic of what our couple might look like in a dystopian/apocalyptic alternate universe. The picture was so cool that it made me write this story. You're caught up now. 
> 
> *Magnus Peterson is an original character that does not belong to me. His creator approved of this story.
> 
> **I don't think the violence is too graphic, but there are some descriptions of blood and chunks. If you think it's worthy of a warning tag, please let me know and I'll edit it. Thanks!

There were so many old churches in the city. True, not many of them had survived the explosions and rampant attacks of unholy legions, but that didn't make them any less beautiful in Gwen's eyes. She'd searched for a long while until she'd found the right one. Her throne room needed a certain ambiance. Fire and brimstone were good, but she needed something more. Guilt was useless, so the Catholic ones were out. She needed fear.

Finally, she'd found this little number just on the edge of the city. Ages ago, some after-school special had hand-painted flowers on the boards covering the broken stained glass. She'd promptly set fire to those cheery pieces of acrylic shit. The flames licked and warped the youthful innocence, and Gwen smiled. She smiled much more often now than she had before.

Now, she sat in her throne - the old chair had held many a holy ass over its years of service. But none were so regal as hers. Her ever-present leather duster fell in a wave of black over the sides. Her right leg was up, resting on the overturned altar before her. The light from the few remaining bulbs in the chandeliers reflected off of her leather boots. These were nice boots. Barely scuffed, and just a little bloodstained. Keepers.

Her right hand rested on the hilt of a sword. Gwen had no idea where she'd gotten it. The tip was wedged in the wood of the altar, and Gwen turned it absently, widening the slit in the sacred wood. In her left hand, was a length of chain. At the end of the chain sat her Wolf. Magnus' eyes scanned the sanctum in a near-constant state of awareness. He was always watching. Always aware of any potential threats to his Mistress. 

Her wolf had been by her side as long as Gwen cared to remember. There was a time when they were happy. She cooked him dinner, and he helped her train. He told her stories that broke her heart, then asked her questions that challenged her mind. They shared a bed that was full of passion and sincere joy. They had been happy.

Then the Wyrm struck. Although Magnus' body had survived, his mind was as shattered as the glass in the windows of their church. Gwen had held him at that end. She looked into those ever-changing eyes as awareness and comprehension slipped from them. It wasn't fair. He'd endured so much. His body was broken, his heart was bruised, but his mind had been whole. He had been healing. Gwen watched the light of humanity leave his eyes. He'd been confused and angry as he reverted to his Breed form. The Crinos beast had lashed out at her, but when he saw her blood on his hand, he'd stopped. Something in him recognized her. He crawled to her like a beaten dog, begging for acceptance and love. He had been so confused. Satisfied, the Wyrm had left him. The damage was done. The Magnus that Gwen had come to know and love was gone. 

The chain slid across Gwen's lap as her hand moved to caress her Beast's head. When Magnus' mind had died, Gwen's leaped on to the pyre of madness and burned with his. She had become the Mistress. "Fine," she'd thought. "If that's they way this world works, I will oblige." From then on, she had risen through the ranks of the city, leaving a trail of blood and rumors behind her. Now, she ruled her corner of The Burning Rivers with leather boots and a silver sword. But more impressive of either of these, was her Magnus. Gwen stroked his ears and ran her painted nails across his brow. 

He was still her beautiful broken Beast. Many sought to unseat her, but few had the gall to even say it out loud. The city needed her. Not only for her skill and strength, but because she had Magnus. She was the only thing that had Magnus. For a time she considered calling their church "The Eye of the Storm" but she realized that was a foolish homage to their former lives, and had abandoned building the rumors quickly. Some survivors still called it that, though never within earshot of Gwen. But the truth was, it was one of the only places that the Wolf was calm. One of the only places that one might catch a glimpse of blue in his ever-red eyes. Not that many did, or lived to tell of it.

Some peasant had found their Church. Gwen never attempted to keep the location a secret. She let the underworld run rampant with rumors. Some folks whispered that she was a witch, who kept Magnus contained only through bloodletting rituals that would have made the voodoo priests go weak at the knees. Others said that the chain he wore was silver and barbed, so that his animal mind had learned that resisting his Mistress meant only pain. Still others said the chain was only for show. The wolf could have broken it in a heartbeat, and been free to roam and destroy as he saw fit, instead of waiting for his Lady's orders. Some that believed the last tale added another chapter to the story - the chain was a metaphor. Despite the depths of madness, the two still loved each other. They were bound to each other, by a link that neither could break, and neither wanted to. Those that believed this last rumor were the most terrified of Gwen and her Magnus... and rightfully so.

The man who cowered before her now did not know which of these tales he believed. He only knew that the sight of the lady's leather-clad chest rising and falling with even breaths was just as frightening as the shallows growls that issued from the steel grey beast at her side. He wished she'd pick up the chain again. He wished there was some sort of confirmation that she did in fact control the animal, but Gwen offered no such comfort. She hated weakness. She'd rather a man come in strutting like a peacock, instead of chittering like a mouse. At least a peacock was beautiful as it died.

"Tell me again what you want." Her voice commanded. She had not been listening, and she made no attempt to hide it.

The sword turned slightly as the man began to stammer again. Magnus' lip twitched to show a once-white canine as he felt his Mistress' boredom growing. Gwen shushed him with a smile, like one might speak to a fussing child. The Fenrir placed his head on his Lady's lap, looking away from the man shivering between the row of pews. Although just because he did not face him, did not mean Magnus was unaware of the man's intentions. If there was one benefit to the absence of his human mind, it was that his instincts were honed. Gwen trusted them implicitly.

Again, the man pleaded for some favor. Many sought the Mistress' aid in ridding their home of some affliction or another. Still others came to her for the latest in cybernetic technology. Her eyes were a wonderful example of the advancements in cyber-optics, but Magnus always bore the newest and best tech in his hide. The hand he'd lost so long ago had been replaced with a variety of models over the years, but the newest installment was Gwen's favorite. It allowed her to outfit him with several different attachments. Most were for pain, but some were for pleasure. She'd let a few of the Talkers walk through her dungeons over the years. Just enough that they could catch a glimpse of her toys, and then let their moon-addled brains run away with creative terrors.

She wondered what this man had heard. He kept staring at her tits. Well, if he wanted to see them so badly, all he had to do was ask. Though they would be the last thing he saw on this earth. Aside from Magnus' jaws, of course. Gwen straightened in her seat, and Magnus' ears perked up, ready for his Mistress' command. She soothed him again for a moment before picking up the chain and leaning forward. The sword was driven in to the altar and stood, swaying gently like it was trying to get back to Gwen's hands. But she had no need for it. She had her Magnus.

"I've given you ample opportunity to hold my attention, and you have failed to do so at every turn." Her hands came together in front of her. Her elbows rested on her knees, and her biceps pressed her breasts together until they threatened to spill from the leather bodice. 

The man's eyes went wide. Arousal and fear warred on his face.

"I see no reason why I should help you. Why I should put my beast and myself at risk to aid your foolish whims?" She took a breath. "Leave. Now."

Magnus' lips curled again. His bloodstained teeth did not contain the snarl that rose in his throat. Gwen did nothing to soothe him this time.

"But... but Mistress! I... I thought... You said that... They said you'd... You owe me!" The man could see his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He began to tremble violently, and took a few steps backward. 

"Fool," she thought. "One does not run from a predator." Gwen did not rage. She did not yell. She simply smiled. Her metal gaze fell on Magnus' quivering form. At least 10 feet in height and several hundred pounds of solid muscle, eager to do her bidding.

Her left hand came up to rest on his head again, and her right hand held the chain, loose and slack. In the dusty silence of the cathedral, everyone could hear the faint "click."

At first, nothing happened. No explosion or roar came from the pulpit. Then, the chain slid. It snaked over Gwen's leg and fell into a vicious coil on the floor. At that, Magnus moved.

"Go, my love." Gwen cooed. "Show him what we owe the world."

With lips pulled in what may have been a smile, Magnus did as she commanded. The task took only a moment. The man was neither fast, nor strong. Magnus seemed almost disappointed when he climbed the steps back to Gwen's throne.

"Oh, my poor boy." She took his head in her arms and held him. The blood and offal on his muzzle stuck to her bodice in thick, warm chunks. "No challenge at all, is it, precious? Such a sad state of affairs. Perhaps we'll go to the park later. There must be a deer or two left somewhere in the woods. If anyone can find them, I'm sure it's you, my pet."

She picked up an altar cloth from the side of her chair. It was stiff and rank with dried blood. Gwen ran it over his muzzle, and then over the cybernetic claw on his left arm, before dropping the acrid cloth back at her side. Gwen lifted the chain, and with a kiss on his nose, fastened it around Magnus' blood spattered neck once again.

With that, Gwen fell back in the chair and took the sword into her hand again. She looked at the sanctuary door, where she could see a pair of eyes peering into the darkness. The Mistress flicked a bit of skin from her armor as she settled into her favorite pose. Her voice rang out through the hall and she scratched under Magnus' sanguine chin.

"Next!"


End file.
